202 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



[Sept. 7, 1895. 



of the year, but it is a fact that we had none. We did 

 not consider our needs superior to the law, and though 

 we knew that the hotels out of the woods were serving 

 venison to their guests and that parties similarly situated 

 to ourselves were eating it, we buckled our belts a little 

 tighter and resisted temptation. Bread was our staff of 

 life and our sole excuse for existence, and if I ever fell 

 out with an old friend it was with this one, when my 

 appetite went back on me while hunger kept increasing. 



It was an off day for the pickerel, and finding they 

 would not bite we proceeded up the stream. 



A deer concealed in the trees winded us and bounded 

 away whistling. While fishing we had seen another 

 across the bay, but in a position where it would have 

 been a loss of time to attempt an approach. Bounding a 

 bend in the stream we came upon our fourth deer for the 

 day, a doe feeding breast deep at the edge of the water. 

 She had not seen us, and Jock ran the canoe inshore be- 

 hind some pucker bushes. After watching her some 

 minutes and seeing that she would not be likely to give 

 us a better opportunity than already offered, I signaled 

 to Jock to push off into the stream, trusting to luck to get 

 a photograph. Just then a blast of wind caught the 

 canoe and threw it into the bushes that scratched and 

 grated along the side , and at once attracted the doe's at- 

 tention to us. There was but one chance to take her, and 

 I raised the large camera above the breastwork of 

 bushes and pressed the bulb. But my action was not bo 

 quick as the deer's, and the negative shows a pair of heels 

 high in the air and a rump of fleecy whiteness, very like 

 the view of a rabbit diving into its burrow. 



A little further along Jock ran the canoe inshore to 

 look at some moose tracks in the mud, and as the boat 

 grounded a large buck walked out on the opposite shore 

 200ft. away. I turned the large camera and took a pic- 

 ture, for I knew we would get no closer. The deer can be 

 found on the negative, but that is all that can be said of 

 it. It is too small for any practical use. 



For a moment the buck stood as though petrified, and 

 then slowly turned and with a few great bounds was out 

 of sight, but we heard him whistle for some minutes. 



Two miles or soup stream from the lake is a carry a quar- 

 ter of a mile or more in length. Near the lower end of 



CARIBOU TRACK. 



this carry is an old dam, the gates of which, however, 

 have not been closed of recent years. Just below the dam, 

 in the nearly dry bed of the stream, Jock showed me the 

 skeleton of a moose killed by a sportsman he guided last 

 fall. We found that some large animal had gnawed 

 pieces off the bones and Jock said the skeleton had been 

 dragged some distance from its original resting-place. 

 Near by, at one side of the carry, was a "bear tree," and 

 on it were fresh tooth marks of a large bear. There 

 seemed little doubt that this was the animal that had been 

 at the moose skeleton, and for a memento of the wilder- 

 ness I photographed the tree. It was a small spruce and 

 the green bark had been bitten off about the height of a 

 man's head from the ground. 



Near the upper end of the carry were some fresh cari- 

 bou tracks and one of these I photographed, strapping the 

 small camera tightly to my head, lens downward and 

 holding my breath during the delicate operation. Caribou 

 tracks in general appearance are somewhat similar to 

 moose tracks, but are broader and more rounded. 



Evidences of moose were also seen, and the great weight 

 of these animals might be inferred from the way they had 

 barked tough spruce roots by stepping on them. Nothing 

 of less weight than a horse would have stripped these 

 roots in the same way by simply walking over them. 



A short distance above the carry Warderley Brook 

 branches, one stream coming from the north and the 

 other from the south. We chose the latter, being 

 governed by the direction of the wind. All along the 

 banks we saw moose and caribou tracks in abundance, 

 and clean swaths had been cropped in many places among 

 the lilypads. But we saw no game. The wind swirled 

 and eddied, and sometimes seemed to blow from all 

 directions of the compass at once. At other times the 

 prevailing head wind would change and give us an unde- 

 sired boost along, all which caused us to pray more fer- 

 vently than ever for a quiet day. 



On our way back to camp we saw one deer— a doe — 

 below the carry, and got very close to her, but her body 

 was concealed by the bushes and we failed to get a pic- 

 ture. This made a total of six deer for the day or thirty - 

 eight in all. 



The next day we decided to move our camp to the carry 

 at Warderley Brook, as everything seemed to indicate that 

 that would be the best hunting neighborhood for the re- 

 maining days of our stay. 



Scarcely had we pushed off from shore when Jock spied 

 a deer on the opposite shore just above the "Thorough- 

 fare." We paddled across, but he had gone back into the 

 woods, and did not appear again, though we waited for 

 some time. This deer was a buck and had no doubt come 

 down to the lake simply to drink. 



On entering Warderley Bay we sighted our second deer 



for the day, feeding along the north shore, but on account 

 of the direction of the wind we did not attempt an 

 approach. 



Number three for the day was a doe. We got within 

 100ft. of her, but some bushes intervened between deer and 

 camera, and she was off just a moment too soon. 



The next was a buck that stood behind a fallen tree at 

 the water's edge, just above a place where the stream is 

 obstructed by submerged rocks. While maneuvering for 

 a position the deer winded us and was off. 



It was at this place last fall that Jock lost the chance of 

 killing a large bull moose. He was coming up the stream 

 one day just after the season opened, and rounding the 

 last bend of the Narrows when he blew his nose. He had 

 taken a look ahead and no game was to be seen, but the 

 instant he blew his nose up popped the moose's head from 

 behind a miniature island near shore. The moose had 

 been standing half submerged and it did not require much 

 of an island to conceal him. 



He ran back a short distance from the stream without 

 having presented an opportunity for a shot, and then 

 stopped. Jock could tell this from the cessation of noise 

 that marked the moose's flight. The bull had not had 

 time to make out dearly the cause of its fright, and it did 

 not know whether to leave the spot for good or not. 



More from curiosity to see what the effect would be than 

 anything else, Jock went ashore on the opposite side of 

 the stream, and selecting a good place gave one of his 

 most seductive moose calls. The sound was hardly out of 

 his lips when there was a crash that shook the trees across 

 the stream, and the moose was off like a runaway locomo- 

 tive. The sound verified its worst suspicions, and yet 

 that same moose will eventually, no doubt, meet its death 

 in answer to such a call. So much do circumstances alter 

 cases. 



Our fifth deer for the day was on the south branch of 

 the stream above the carry. This was a buck with enor- 

 mous horns, and seeing these first I felt sure we had at 

 last found caribou, but a moment later the color of 

 his body undeceived me. He was standing on a narrow 

 point in a perfectly impregnable position, and was off 

 long before we were within range. 



Number six was a doe that had finished her call at the 

 stream and who gave us just a glimpse of her lithe form 

 before retiring to the shelter of the woods. It was lunch 

 time, and so far we had not succeeded in getting any pic- 

 tures. 



In the afternoon our first deer, number seven, for the 

 day was a buck. We got a glimpse of him going back 

 on the bog and worked the canoe cautiously up to the 

 spot where we had seen him. Standing up I found he 

 was still there, head up and every muscle tense. I se- 

 cured a minute photograph with the small camera. Num- 

 ber eight was a doe, who went back into the woods with- 

 out giving us the opportunity we desired. Number nine 

 was only half a block further on. While looking for the 

 doe we heard a crackling in a piece of swampy under- 

 growth, and going nearer we saw the alders shaking and 

 a buck's horns above them. Though only 60ft. distant 

 according to our estimate, he would not come into plain 

 view. When finally he raised his head and looked at us 

 there was a tree between. J. B. Burnham. 



Office of Forest and Stream. 



THE OUTING OF SIX.-ll. 



Columbine and Clematis, Trout and More Trout. 



That horse of Collie's will never be forgotten. Accord- 

 ing to his statement it had been driven, rode and packed 

 constantly for seventeen yeare, and all my efforts with 

 whip and spur aroused in it only temporary enthusiasm. 

 But even its slow gait had with it advantages, for I was 

 amid the scenery that I loved. Out of the cedars and 

 into the realm of long-leaved pine I strolled, and the 

 spicy aroma of balsam filled the air. Flowers were few, 

 for the altitude is great and the season like the 1st of May 

 at Provo. 



Emerging from the canon at a point where the valley 

 of Panguitch Creek opens into dairy ranches, I visited 

 first the famous trout holes at White Rocks, concerning 

 which I wrote Forest and Stream four years ago. But 

 now the spot was profaned by a shearing corral, and, as 

 shearing was in full blast, and 3,000 sheep were watering 

 at the spot, I did not delay for further investigation. 

 Two miles above was Dodds's ranch, and as my friend 

 Dodds has three miles of the finest trout streams inclosed 

 by his fences, and does not permit trespassing, I knew 

 that, should he be at home, this was the place for us to 

 make our first permanent camp. Indeed I wrote to 

 George before leaving Provo, but as he had not been to 

 town for his mail he was taken completely by surprise, 

 making his whole-souled hospitality the more appreciated! 



As I neared the ranch I looked in vain for the house 

 where I had spent many memorable evenings in the past. 

 Nothing was left but the chimney. Half a mile up Butler 

 Creek I saw a man repairing fences. Thinking it might 

 be Dodds, I rode over to him, and ten minutes later the 

 old friends were walking toward the new cabin, each new- 

 observation calling up the memory of "Auld Lang Syne" 

 (Dodds is Scotch, hence the quotation). The new house 

 was in course of construction. It was located close to a 

 splendid spring, concealed from the highway and partly 

 shaded by willows, and within 300yds. of either Butler or 

 Panguitch creeks. My host was "batching" it, and he 

 soon had ready a dinner of coffee, fresh bread and the 

 most delicious mutton that I ever tasted, He said that 

 sheep and stockmen kept him constantly busy repairing 

 the miles of fence that surrounded his place. He had no 

 time for fishing, but his son caught a mess every day and 

 we were welcome to all the fishing we wanted. He 

 picked out a splendid camping place for us, and then tell- 

 ing me that I had better get a mess of trout for supper he 

 went back to his fence mending. 



All my tackle was in the wagon between Dodds's and 

 Panguitch, but trout I must have even if I had to resort 

 to the bent pin outfit. This, however, was unnecessary. 

 In my wallet I had a coachman on a No. 8 hook. This 

 was left over from my outing in Colorado five years pre- 

 vious. I suppose that I had kept it just for this especial 

 time and purpose. A line was sought for and I found a 

 spool of 50 cotton in the cabin. This was soon twisted, 

 and a willow pole completed my paraphernalia. Fishing 

 with such a rig required more skill than though I had 

 used a cheap split-bamboo rod. I had no reel, and had I 

 attempted the "ker swish - splash - slam " method and 

 thrown the trout over my head by main] strength and 



awkwardness neither hook nor line would have lasted a 

 minute. As I wandered down to the brook with my im- 

 provised tackle I felt almost like a boy again. In the 

 virgin meadow the grass was knee deep, and. by the 

 water side the ground fairly blazed with buttercups. But 

 in other respects the flora was very different from that of 

 the East. In the meadow the showy Thermopsis rliom- 

 bifolia held sway, and under the willows blossomed that 

 stately brunette of the lily family, Fritittaria atropur- 

 purea. Perhaps I was doing too much mental botaniz- 

 ing. Thoughtlessly I went to the water's edge. Scud ! 

 scurry ! Here they go—not the big beauties of which 

 professional sportsmen boast, but those little brook trout, 

 from 6 to lOin. in length, the kind that used to be com- 

 mon in northern New Jersey, southern New York and 

 western Massachusetts befote^the restocking ' of the de- 

 pleted streams became a necessity. With such a tackle 

 trout must be hooked by the sense of touch and not by 

 that of sight. Back to mind came every pool and riffle 

 along the creek, and I stole cautiously to a hole upon 

 which the now long-drawn shadows would not be cast. 

 Silently I dropped my fly upon the water. I could not 

 see it touch the surface, but in a second there was a sharp 

 tug, a strike, and Mr. Trout was hooked for keeps, I 

 could not play him, so I led him up stream and gently 

 raised him out. Six times did I repeat the operation 

 before my fly ceased to attract. These trout would aver- 

 age 9in. in length and one went over a foot. They were 

 average size with the rest of our catch while at Dodds's 

 ranch. When I had ten trout on my string I saw Doc 

 and Andrew coming on the buckboard. I had to leave 

 my work and go to the road to direct them to camp. 

 Then I returned to the willows, and by the time the 

 sheep wagon hove in sight I had enough trout for supper. 

 In the meantime Doc had caught four fish and Andrew 

 two. This was Andrew's sole experience with trout. 

 He had come to botanize and botanize he did; but (sub 

 rosa) though he did not do much with the rod, subse- 

 quent events proved him a dandy with the rifle. 



At supper that night Mr. Dodds joined us, and there- 

 after we enjoyed his entertaining society at every meal. 

 Out of the goodness of his heart he brought some of that 

 delicious mutton with him, notwithstanding the fact that 

 we were infinitely in his debt. Then we made down the 

 beds and Andrew slept alone, for I was bound to chum 

 with my old comrade, and all of us, horses included, 

 rested and grew fat. 



The next morning Andrew and I determined to botan- 

 ize while the rest of the party fished. I told my partner 

 that he could get fifty new species at Dodds's. This num- 

 ber he was inclined to ridicule, but before evening he 

 was fully converted to my opinion. When we regained 

 camp we found the four fishermen had captured 110 

 trout, Ted having the largest string (forty-four) to his 

 credit. These lasted us for four meals, there being gener- 

 ally eight at the table. We fiBhed no more until they 

 were gone. After cleaning them, attending to our plants 

 and getting dinner, we prepared to loaf, when Mr. Dodds 

 expressed his willingness to guide us to what he consid- 

 ered one of the daintiest bits of scenery. I knew the 

 poetic nature beneath that rugged exterior. If Dodds 

 said it was beautiful it was sure to be enchanting. Our 

 route lay over a sandy knoll southeast of the cabin, and 

 here we found many new plants, among them a delicate 

 white echinocactus. Here were also horned toads ; 

 striped, spotted and parti-colored lizards. Doc began to 

 look for his diamond-backed rattlesnake, but it was not 

 to be found. I forgot to mention in my last that Doc had 

 four wishes, and but four: 1st, diamond-backed rattle- 

 snake; 2d, 151bs. trout; 3d, the skeleton of a cliff-dweller; 

 4th, either a buffalo or a mountain sheep— I forget which. 



Half a mile from camp we struck Panguitch Creek in 

 one of the prettiest glades that artist or angler could 

 imagine. Overhead birches and white-coated cotton- 

 woods, with shimmering leaves, arched the stream that 

 wandered along now as placidly as a meadow brook, now 

 whirled in deep, black, trout-haunted eddies about the 

 roots of some dead forest monarch, and now glinted its 

 white riffles in a fleck of sunshine as it hurried down- 

 ward to the valley. Out of the deepest shadow came the 

 occasional note of thrush and warbler — not the contin- 

 uous matin or vesper song of the heavenly chorus, but a 

 single liquid call, soft and sweet as an echo from para- 

 dise, afraid to intrude upon the noontide silence of a 

 sleeping world. Soft and rich was the mossy carpet over 

 which we walked, and about us were myriads of buds 

 that another week would see expand in all their floral 

 loveliness. 



The scene changed. The sunlight that fell here and 

 there down the fretted aisles seemed more distant and 

 more cold. The walls of the glen drew closer together 

 and became precipitous. There was a sound as of the 

 rushing of many waters. A deep black pool, angry and 

 blanched with the mighty force of the constrained tor- 

 rent ! Then the grim walls rose to a height of 150ft. 

 perpendicularly from the stream and less than 2ft. apart. 

 So narrow is this box canon that in seasons when the 

 creek has gone dry men have walked through the gate- 

 way and their shoulders have grazed each pillar. No 

 wonder that the water is from 15 to 20ft. deep in the pool 

 below, and that here the largest and gamiest trout hide. 

 The picture was more beautiful than grand, for nature 

 had veiled rock, crag and even precipice itself with the 

 delicate drapery of June. From brackets scarce large 

 enough for the cliff martin's nest hung graceful sprays of 

 cheilanthes. Where frost seams had scarred the rugged 

 furrows the beautiful clematis verticillaris found a foot- 

 hold, and every rocky shelf was a bed of that most mod- 

 est and fragrant columbine Aquilegia ccerulea. This 

 variety was a pure albino, smaller flowered and with a 

 more delicious perfume than any I had seen before. An 

 artist would have found it almost an impossibility to 

 leave such a Bpot, and I do not remember to have seen 

 any gem of similar beauty in the length and breadth of 

 the land. As one of our number remarked, "That pic- 

 ture alone paid for the whole journey." 



When we returned to camp the botanists had sufficient 

 work to employ their time for many an hour, and the 

 taxidermists proceeded to investigate the beautiful little 

 swallow that from this point to the Buckskin Mountains 

 was found at every watering-place. It was the violet- 

 green swallow (Tachyeineta thalassina, Swains.). As fur- 

 ther fishing was prohibited until all the trout in camp 

 were eaten, we retired early, and long before sunrise on 

 Thursday_morning Andrew and I were getting breakfast. 

 As a ivli we had that most important meal on the table 

 (wagon-sheet) before the other bOys had their eyes open. 



